Lover Mine
by Astridhe
Summary: Stand-alone shorts. Most priestesses don't bother to ask, and Solaufein is used to that. Teasing and waiting? Less so. But when it comes to his priestess, it's worth it.
1. Lover Mine

It started with a look, a simple look. Solaufein had been watching her from the corner of his eye, seemingly the perfect Fey Branche soldier. He was Weapons Master now, a Matron's son and a proud noble. He thought he was being discreet as his eyes wandered over that slender form that wasn't nearly as familiar as he wished it was. And then he'd seen it: the slow curl of her lips up into a satisfied smile, a little gleam of amusement in her eyes. She'd caught him watching. He felt the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks and dropped his gaze in a properly submissive way. It probably didn't help his case that she was in the middle of discussing some affair or another with the Matron Mother. He took some solace in the fact that she didn't seem disinterested.

And she kept noticing. Every time they passed in the halls or even met and his eyes wandered, that smile returned. She knew. Once, she even said something when it was just the two of them alone, waiting for the Matron Mother. "See something you like?" she'd teased. That was something new in a female drow. There was no order to bed, just a sort of playfulness that took him by surprise. She seemed to enjoy being the shock to his system. And he never knew how to answer, so he stood there tongue-tied.

And she laughed at him.

It wasn't harsh like he expected, just a silvery sound of amusement that seemed reserved for him alone. And she found other ways to tease him as well, brushing past him in the halls with more contact than seemed absolutely necessary. It made his skin tingle and a pleasant shiver run down his spine. The problem was simple: he wanted her, and she wasn't doing anything about it except tormenting him. If she hadn't been a noble, hadn't been a priestess, he would have just used force to take what he wanted. That was the drow way. Then again, no one but a noble and a priestess would have dared baiting the Weapons Master.

Sometimes he wondered if she wanted him to try, if it was an elaborate trap. Certainly, she seemed to be spinning webs around him like no other priestess had quite managed to. But it wasn't confining. He always felt like he could run if he wanted to. The trick of the web was that it made him not want to run. It fascinated, even enchanted. And what a spider! The softly angled features of her House, intense eyes the color of stone, full lips, and the slender frame with a gymnast's muscles. More often than not he saw her in armor like a fighter, either headed to a battle or coming from one. But sometimes, like now, he caught her in robes with fabric clung to her breasts and hips. It was the first time he'd envied common cloth.

All his efforts were utterly in vain. The normal rules seemed entirely discarded when it came to his priestess—as he thought of her now even though he had no claim. His submissive looks gained him nothing and even declaring himself at her service had been met with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and that damned smile. She had to know that she was driving him insane, that she'd permeated even his dreams now. When another priestess would tug him to bed, he tried to pretend it was her if only to make the process more pleasant. It never worked with the way they demanded his attention, but it had been a good effort.

Part of him hoped it would be different with her. He would settle for less painful, anyway. Just for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine those long fingers running through his short hair and those lips against his own. "Solaufein." The voice cut through his reverie and he found himself looking at the Matron. He thought she'd been ignoring him.

"Yes, Matron Mother?" he said with the appropriate level of obedience, lowering his eyes again so that he didn't dare look at her. Out of all of Alaunraena's children, her eldest son was the most obedient. He hadn't stepped out of line since he was too young to know better. Fear of that dreaded snake-whip always kept him carefully observing her moods and tailoring every response to be as courteous and obliging as possible. It had taken him far in life, even to the post of Weapons Master.

"Escort our guest from House Duskryn to spare quarters. She'll be staying overnight."

He forced himself to swallow. It was as though the world enjoyed tormenting him. "Yes, Matron Mother." He turned, trying to keep his eyes fixed on the floor. "If you'll follow me, mistress?" He always called her by that rather than her name even though they'd known each other at the Academies. Priestesses preferred it in his experience, making them feel even more in control of him.

"Of course," his priestess said, following him casually.

Solaufein walked a little faster than was probably necessary, seeking to end his torment as quickly as possible. She walked so close to him that he swore he could feel the heat from her body. It was certainly close enough that he felt like he was going to spontaneously combust. He couldn't find it in him to say anything, still wondering if he was under the effects of a charm spell or if she was really a succubus. Demons and House Duskryn seemed to go together like salt and pepper. They moved through the corridors at a good speed until finally he reached the door and opened it for her silently.

She stepped through, then turned abruptly. "Solaufein," she said, curling a finger at him to indicate that he should follow. "I think no one will mind, don't you?"

He almost ran after her even though it put him at another's beck and call. He managed to slow himself down as if she didn't make all the blood in his body rush towards his groin, doing his best not to look overeager. Desperation was only attractive to a female when she had intentionally caused it. Which his priestess may have done, he realized. He froze when she turned. He hadn't expected it, so he'd gotten close. Close enough to make him feel like he was burning up when he realized there was maybe an inch separating him. And he knew the smile was back even without looking, equal parts satisfied and inviting. "No, mistress," he managed to get out as motion returned to his limbs, brain feeling somewhat behind the rest of him. There was what he wanted and what was allowed. He wasn't to move until she told him otherwise or released him to go back about his duties.

Her fingers traced along his jawline until they came to rest under his chin. Ever so gently, she tilted his face up until he was looking into her grey eyes. They seemed to have the power to hypnotize, like the gaze of a serpent or a powerful enchantress. The only danger he felt was from his own tenuous control. "What do you want, Solaufein?" she said. Something in the tone suggested that now was the time to spill everything out. It was certainly welcoming enough.

"You, mistress," he said. And wasn't that the truth.

"My name," she corrected with a subtle patience even as she looked at him with a definite expectation.

He was certain he was going to burn up. "You, Revered Llolfaen."

She laughed, that beautiful sound ringing softly in his ears. "I would have settled for Llolfaen," she said with that familiar amusement. Now she arched an eyebrow at him. "What do you propose to do about what you want, Weapons Master?" It was another tease with a hint of challenge to it.

"Mis—Revered Llolfaen?" Solaufein said questioningly. Surely she wasn't suggesting that he make the first move. That just...it didn't happen. It felt like his brain started to lock up while his body screamed at him to do something now, no matter what it was. But he couldn't move, spellbound.

She kissed him, lips soft against his even though the kiss sent fire running wild through his veins. Immediately, he ran his hands down her sides and let them come to rest on her hips. He more felt than heard her purr of approval at his hands on her. Apparently she was enjoying this almost as much as him, almost because he wasn't certain it was possible for anyone to enjoy themselves as much as he was enjoying himself right now. Her body was against him and he cursed mentally at his armor for getting in the way.

Not that it would be there much longer. Her fingers were dancing from clasp to clasp with the expert speed of a practiced hand. He was glad now that she wore armor so often. It made her exceedingly good at getting him out of his. "Bed," she said with a rough edge to her voice, pulling back to look at him. It amazed him how dark her eyes were now. He smiled so widely it ached even as he moved with her to the bed, letting her strip off his clothes as they moved.

His priestess. In bed. The world had suddenly become perfect. Part of him was still afraid that it would be terribly unpleasant, but most of him didn't care. He would take anything he could get.

And then she started to torture him. Not literally, but close. She was just moving so slowly, taking so much time, and with such a soft touch that he thought he was going to explode. He wanted to beg for her to go faster, but it came out as a keening sound from his throat that made her laugh again. "Hush, you can wait," she whispered against his ear. No one had ever been so careful or thorough with him. He couldn't imagine the amount of practice it had taken her to learn precisely where to touch and how. Even though they weren't familiar with each other's bodies, she seemed to know what would work on him.

There was something to it when she touched him, a sort of electric charge to every caress. He imagined it was probably the divine magic that always flowed through her veins, but some part of him naggingly insisted it was because it was _her_ touching him. That not even another favored soul would be able to get this kind of response—it had to be her. That was a little terrifying.

But it never hurt. He supposed he was a little rough with her just because he was excited, but she hardly seemed to mind. This seemed less like the vendetta of the average priestess and much more like some kind of game that she was clearly winning.

It nearly gave him a heart attack when he realized that he'd left love-bites on her neck accidentally. Thankfully, he found out that she actually liked them there, which was in and of itself strange. Priestesses weren't supposed to like anyone staking claim on them. There were even moments where he felt like he was in control, even though he was taking a gentle sort of direction from her. It was an entirely intoxicating.

He didn't know how his family would take this, but he did know that he wanted this for the rest of his life. The odds of him finding another priestess so considerate was zero to none. When things finally settled down, the sheets tangled all around their legs, he waited for her to send him away. Instead, she started tracing the lines of his muscles with one delicate finger. He wanted to ask if he had been good, but the words weren't working for him. His priestess certainly looked satisfied.

"Isn't touching so much better than looking?" she teased him softly, touching the tip of her nose to his. It was as much playful as gentle, a combination so foreign to him that it almost made him lose his train of thought.

"Yes," Solaufein agreed, letting his hands wander over smooth curves. Her eyes flickered closed for a moment in clear enjoyment. He chuckled, his confidence returning. For the first time, he didn't feel timid in the presence of a priestess. "I take it you approve?"

"Mmm," she hummed in agreement, brushing her fingers down his spine. He inhaled sharply, sensitive to the touch. "Though I could use another few rounds to make certain."

He smiled at that, hoping she was serious. It was strange that she hadn't ordered him away, but it was nice. He liked the roaming fingers across his chest and then through his hair. Her manicured nails just brushed across the surface of his skin rather than scratching him. "Revered Llolfaen..."

She tugged on his hair, though not hard. Just enough that he felt it. "No honorific," she ordered.

"Llolfaen," he said. But he wasn't sure how to ask. It was up to her if she kept him, after all. And with the fact that he was Weapons Master, it was highly unlikely that he would be allowed to be her consort unless something was negotiated at the Matron's level. Even then, there would always be the question of loyalty. So he would have to content himself with being a toy. That was hardly a bad thing as long as it was her. "Keep me?"

She tapped his lips gently with a finger. "Oh, we'll do this again, Weapons Master," she said with that same teasing tone even though he knew it was true.

That was good enough for him. Because this, whatever it was, was worth keeping. For one thing, it felt fantastic. He wasn't used to things feeling so pleasurable in general. His life was violence and that carried over into bed no matter whether he was taking or giving. "As you wish," he said contently.

"You sound so agreeable. It makes me want to suggest all kinds of things," his priestess said. That smile was back and he knew now that it suggested what exactly she was thinking about doing to him or with him. For once, he didn,t take that as an ominous sign. To his surprise, she brushed her fingers over the couple of marks on her neck.

"Sorry, mis—Llolfaen," he said contritely, a little worried now that he would be in trouble.

"Don't be. It will be nice to have a reminder of this," she said before looking over at him. "How long until you have to return to your duties?"

He'd never had a lover who worried about whether or not he would get in trouble with the Matron, and especially not one who gave a thought to his duties and his routines. It suggested that she thought of him a distinct person instead of just as a plaything. "It can wait," he said, settling down next to her. He was ready to stay for as long as she wanted.

Sometimes, it wasn't so bad to belong to someone else.


	2. I'll Take Care of You

Solaufein lay on the floor of his quarters and tried not to think or feel. Anything to blot out the pain of his back, torn to shreds by the priestess's snake whip. Not his priestess, but another that had decided to take him to bed and been infuriated by his refusal. Really, it had been idiotic to say no and he knew it, but he'd become bolder over the past few months. Not that it was any consolation to his tortured back and half of his face. He knew bone was visible, but the worst part was the venom. It burned in his veins and left him with a fever and quivering muscles. He heard the door open and muttered a curse against the stone. It was probably Nizana coming back to laugh at him.

Instead, he heard a rustle of fabric and someone knelt down next to him. He recognized the scent, soft and pleasant like a surface wind that always seemed to calm him down and bring him back to center. His priestess. If he hadn't been in so much pain, he would have said her name. Instead, he let out a hiss when he felt her shift him ever so slightly.

"Oh, Sol," she said. He wasn't certain if she was angry or unhappy or both. "Who did this to you?"

He groaned and then felt soft fingertips touch his hand. Healing energy flowed through him, flooding across his tortured back to slowly mend muscle and knit skin closed. There was so much damage, but she was an excellent healer even if that was not her general affinity. "Thank you," he managed to get out. It was painless. That had never happened before—normally the healing spells of priestesses left him in agony as punishment for being stupid or slow enough to be injured. Instead, there was just a pleasant feeling of warmth and a tingling through his back. He gingerly picked himself up when the healing had finished, swaying slightly.

His priestess was there to steady him, smoothing her hands across his bare back and tracing her fingertips along his spine. There was not a trace of scar tissue left and she surely knew that. All the same, she seemed intent upon making sure for herself. "What happened?" she said more softly. He knew the query for information couldn't really be counted as a request, but he didn't want to tell her. Not when it would throw her right into a power struggle with another priestess. Nizana Zolond was not a noble, but only barely. She was still the most influential matriarch in the House short of the Matron Mother herself.

Why did he think there would be any trouble between them? Maybe his priestess would find his insolence earlier just as aggravating. After all, a male did not say no to a priestess. Or maybe she would just laugh and take amusement at his pain. That didn't explain why she'd healed him, of course, but he was operating off of everything he'd experienced in the past.

"It's not important," he said, ready to sweep the whole incident firmly under the rug. He stopped before he could say more, stilling when she cupped his cheek with a hand and brushed her thumb over his lips.

"Solaufein, what happened?" she said more firmly. She did not look like she wanted to argue, and that meant he was going to lose. Immediately. This was one of the few situations he'd ever been in where he couldn't feign ignorance. His thoughts started to move quickly. How could he talk his way out of trouble? Was it worth it to lie? She wouldn't be happy if she found out, which was virtually inevitable. He stopped himself, fully aware of what he needed to do: tell the truth.

"I said no," he admitted, gaze immediately dropping. He didn't want to see anything in her eyes, and even more than that, knew the privilege would be revoked if he made her angry. Well, he assumed. He'd never managed to anger her sufficiently to reach that point, which was a blessing and something he aimed to keep that way.

"And who, exactly, tried to get you to bed?" she said. He could definitely hear a note of anger and the hand against his cheek stiffened abruptly. He didn't think she would hurt him very badly, but he wasn't exactly certain. After all, he'd had many a priestess vent on him and it had never been pleasant.

"Nizana Zolond," he said, tensing in expectation of a blow simply because of her tone. But instead, he heard her make a soft noise of anger even as her hand stroked his cheek. It was soothing. He found himself leaning into her hand a little bit, letting his eyes drift half-closed as he relaxed. After the healing, he felt better than he even had when he first woke up. It was late now and he knew that meant that she'd come in from some kind of patrol. Or perhaps not. There were times where she came to see him, exhausted and in pain, where she had never left the city. Something sometimes happened in the rites of Lloth that he didn't understand. Perhaps it had something to do with the darkness he occasionally saw moving behind her eyes. It had never frightened him, but it did worry him sometimes. Whatever it was set an invisible weight on her shoulders that he didn't always have the power to remove. But he could make her forget it for a while.

"It won't happen again," she said firmly, grey eyes studying his. They were familiar now, so much so that he could see the faint suggestions of stress and exhaustion around them that she'd tried to hide so well. She'd come to him for some reason even though she didn't seem particularly in the mood for the game they always played. For months now, he'd been her lover and every time seemed better than the last to him. He had no idea what his priestess was thinking so much of the time. She kept her world closed to him in many ways and he was grateful for that. It put him in the place where her secrets were not for him to know and that meant there was nothing for the Matron or his sisters to wring out of him. It protected him from all the things that troubled her. But when she was with him, she seemed to let other walls fall low. He thought of her mind as a gem with many facets, some hidden and others revealed by a soft light.

"Thank you, Revered Llolfaen," he said quietly, a wave of relief flooding over him. When his priestess promised something, she always delivered. And he was grateful that he wouldn't have to suffer under Nizana's hand again. How she would manage that, he didn't know. But his priestess was resourceful if nothing else and powerful as well. It was likely she could simply intimidate the cleric into staying away. Few were willing to pick a fight with a daughter of House Duskryn, if only for fear of a terrible wrath being visited upon them. Even Nizana would not cross that line in the sand. Not with his priestess.

Her delicate fingers ran down his chest, leaving a tingle in their wake. "You're mine," she said with that familiar, almost teasing smile. But there was something else in it today: concern. "No one else's."

He shuddered pleasantly at the touch. "Always, Revered Llolfaen. You seem tired."

She sighed. "And sore," she admitted. "Patrol was unpleasant." He noted she had stopped at least long enough to clean up and change before she came here. Did she care what he thought of her or did she just want to was all the dirt and discomfort from the wilds away?

"Let me take care of it?" he asked, gently drawing her into his arms until her body was pressed against his again. He never tired of feeling those curves. He had a plan that would keep his hands on her as well as taking some of the stress out. A massage rarely hurt anyone—and really, it was the dagger to the kidney doing the hurting, not the massage itself. She would have to trust him, but he'd been in her bed often enough to know that she did to some extent. The drow were supposedly promiscuous, and maybe were to some degree, but they were also very discriminating about their partners because anything could happen with armor and clothes off. That was why so many encounters ended with one party limping off and the other victorious. Even a female could occasionally run afoul of a less than obedient male, though she would never admit it. That never happened to nobles for fear of the reprisal, but in the lower echelons of the Houses and city itself, he knew it was an at least occasional problem. Sometimes a more powerful male wanted to vent after being a priestess's toy. He remembered feel that way not so long ago, but since he'd been with his priestess the feeling had faded away. He no longer felt used and thrown away.

"I'm not going to say no to that kind of offer," she said with a laugh, shedding clothes and lying down on his bed. She knew what he was planning and actually seemed secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't hurt her. Solaufein realized it was the first time she'd been in his rooms and smiled a little to himself. It almost made an even better picture to see her like this in his own bed. "You can tell me about this new sword and shield of yours that you mentioned before I left."

She always picked safe topics to talk about, things that wouldn't get him in trouble with the Matron for revealing them. Sometimes he slipped up and said something that might have been protected information from his position as Weapons Master, but she never said anything about it as far as he could tell. His priestess tended to hold onto secrets, both her own and other people's. It was an advantageous trait, because then she could always bring them out when she needed the upper hand. But he wasn't really worried about being left in that position, no matter how foolish that was.

He was more than happy to fill her in about the metals and techniques that went into forging his new armaments. He knew that she probably didn't actually care about the details but just wanted to hear the sound of his voice. He didn't understand why it reassured her, but he supposed he felt the same when she spoke to him. It was as enrapturing as any enchantment. As his hands started to work on her back, he found dozens of knots in the muscles there. His priestess must have been in serious pain. He heard her hiss a little as he rubbed them out methodically, but she didn't snap at him or complain. "I've seen fewer knots in a whole rug," he said ruefully. "What happened?"

"Derro," she said, shifting a little. He knew that the pain would fade now that her muscles were relaxing. Before he really realized what was happening, she had rolled over and he was being pulled gently into her arms. When he lay down with her and pressed a kiss to her temple, he heard his priestess sigh contently. "I've waited all week for this."

"Mmm," he hummed in agreement, more than willing to admit that he felt the same. She was too tired to do anything more than hold him and be held right now, which was fine with him too. He could wait. He would always wait if it meant that reward at the end. He pulled the covers over them and relaxed at the gentle, featherlight touch down his back as she lay with her forehead touching his.

As her finger smoothed patterns over his skin, he saw a little flicker of something in her eyes and a faint tightening of her jaw. "I should have been here to protect you," she said quietly.

Solaufein felt something warm in his chest at that. No one had ever wanted to shield him from pain or suffering before. He shifted and pulled her close so she was laying half on his chest with her head tucked under his chin. She couldn't touch his back now, so she sketched patterns gently on his pectoral muscles. "You were here to heal me," he pointed out softly. "That's all I could have asked for. Nizana got nothing she wanted."

"Brave of you," his priestess said. She let her hand lay flat over his heart as if it reassure herself that it was still beating. "Stupid, but brave."

"Oh, I know. But why give her the satisfaction?" he said, comfortable in their current positioning. He covered her hand with his own. "You have me now."

Her hand curled into a fist and he heard her pull in a deep breath, but then she exhaled slowly as if calming herself back down. "You're right," she said quietly. "Nizana can wait until tomorrow."

He felt his priestess press a kiss to his collarbone, then another next to it, then another. They seemed more for reassurance than like she was planning on starting something. They both knew she was much too tired for that. Divine magic warmed his skin, seeping out of her fingertips where she brushed against him. He heard and felt her sigh, his arm wrapped around her. "I should go. I didn't mean to intrude on your day off."

"I am glad you did," he said. When he felt her shift to get up, he added, "You can always sleep here."

She nodded against his chest. After twenty minutes or so of murmuring back and forth between them, her breathing began to slow and even out until finally he could feel that she was asleep. In her sleep she stayed curled around him, her hand still resting over his heart.

Now that she was no longer awake to laugh at his sentiment, he had courage enough to stroke her hair gently. She always seemed more fragile when all the masks she wore for the world were abandoned in favor of slumber. He let his hand shift downward, fingertips tracing the edge of her ear and then her jaw. He could still remember the first time that they'd kissed vividly. How long had it been? Two years now, or at least something very close. It wasn't every day that he saw her, but it was often enough that word had made its way around. Nizana's demand of him had been as much a power play as attraction, if not more so. It would have been a serious insult, had it been successful. But instead people were likely going to hear that she'd been refused by the Weapons Master. It was hard to keep anything a secret in a world so invested in ferreting them out. He didn't really care, no matter what awkwardness it caused between the Matron and Nizana. Not when he was here, his arms around his priestess.

Did she know that she held his whole world in the palm of her hand? Solaufein wasn't certain what love was. He'd heard the stories from human traders and the slaves around the House complex. At first he'd laughed, but now? He understood the appeal of holding tight someone who meant so much. And if this wasn't love, it would do.

She stirred in her sleep a little, lips moving. He heard her make a soft noise that sounded like a note of fear. Without even thinking, he smoothed a hand over her hair. "I'll protect you," he murmured. If she had been awake, she might have protested at the notion that she even needed protection. Particularly from a male. But right now, those words seemed to reach her in her dream and she stilled. His priestess was always plagued by nightmares no matter how tired she was when her head hit the pillow. She had mentioned once, offhandedly, that they were less vivid when he was around. He wasn't certain what to think about it. But at this moment, it worked to his advantage. He didn't want to see her suffer in her dreams any more than he wanted to see her suffer in the waking world.

Now that she was at peace, he gently drifted off to sleep.


End file.
